Bloody Lovely
by Firestorm Nauralagos
Summary: A.U. and O.O.C. Amy has thought things over, and now she's out for revenge. Completed.
1. Chapter 1: Bloody Lovely

_**A/N:**__ I've specified that I like horror, angst and tragedy, but I realized that I have not written anything in those genres. At least, not on fan fiction. This will be my first angst story involving characters that are not my own, and it is meant to be VERY VERY VERY A.U. and O.O.C. Also, I am sorry to those of you that support Amian. I, for one, think that Amy should have kicked him harder in Egypt. Then again, I have had a similar experience with someone named Ian, so I'm a bit biased against people with that name. Comments and constructive criticism are welcome, but flames are not. Flamers will be thrown off the Eiffel Tower into the Arctic Ocean. Don't ask how it's possible; it just is._

_**Disclaimer:**__ I don't own The 39 Clues. I only own my . . . FUDGESICLES! My locker's broken! NOW how will I get my sanity back? :)_

_Thanks to my beta reader, Sanity Optional ! ;)_

_**WARNINGS:**__ Dark. Morbid. Somewhat violent. May mess with your mind. B-L-O-O-D. Some torture. Possibly contains fluffy bunnies with fangs and laser guns. Or maybe not. A.U. O.O.C. Very disturbing. Do not read if you have problems with any of the above, or with anti-Amian._

The blade was sharp. Very sharp. When she touched it to her finger, a line of blood, warm, red blood, oozed from the finger. She smiled. Perfect. Lovely, as HE would say. Bloody lovely. He'd called her that once. It was a lie, and she knew it. Liar, liar, liar. That's what his name should be. _Liar Kabra._ She whispered it to herself, giggling with glee. _Enough stalling,_ she thought. _It's time for revenge. __Revenge__. __**Revenge.**_ The word echoed through her head, like a sound in a cave. An empty cave. A dark, empty, cave with a door closing. A dark empty cave with a door closing and a dart gun in the doorway.

She smiled, tucking the knife into her pocket. The hole she had cut at the bottom was exactly right; only the very tip of the handle stuck out. She stood and glanced at the clock. 4:45 p.m. Exactly right. She took her cell phone from the nightstand, flipped it open, and scrolled down to his name. He was listed as "Villain." It was very amusing to hear her phone when he called her:

"Call from Villain. Call from Villain." She laughed again at the thought, and then she dialed the number, simultaneously reviewing her plot. The phone rang once. Twice. Three times.

"Hello?" His British accent was the same as the last time she'd heard it: suave, confident, cold.

"H-hi, Ian."

"Amy?" He sounded so shocked to hear her, but recovered quickly. "Why are you calling me, love?" She ground her teeth at the nickname, but gave the response she'd planned.

"I w-was wondering, do y-you want to meet me somewhere? I h-have something t-to tell y-you."

"Why can't you tell me over the phone?"

"W-well, I . . . it's s-something I have t-to say in person." Everything was going exactly according to plan. Her false stutter sounded completely natural, her shy, quiet voice exactly the right tone.

"Of course, love. Where are we meeting?"

"The park down the road from Grace's m-mansion. Five o'clock." It was so convenient, having him live in Boston. So very convenient.

"I'll be there." He hung up. She smiled. According to plan. Everything was according to plan. _Bloody lovely._ She whispered those words, listening to the way they sounded. He would regret his actions forever. For all of eternity.

She had to be convincing. Ever so convincing. If she convinced him that she was sincere, he would believe it. He was smart; she was the Madrigal leader. Why turn down a chance to get close to her? He could find out all the Madrigal secrets if he became her ally. It was the perfect strategy.

_He didn't know._

_Didn't know._

_Didn't-_

She shook her head. No time to be thinking. She had to get to the park; if she beat him there, she could find the perfect place to wait. To do her job. To complete the task at hand. She left her phone on the nightstand and left her room.

"Nellie, I'm going to the park," she called.

"Okay, kiddo. Be back by six." The au pair was reading a cookbook and making crepes. The perfect distraction. She decided that she liked crepes then.

Dan was playing video games again. He wouldn't interfere. She stepped outside the house and started walking. It was a nice, sunny day. Odd, wasn't it? Such a bleak project, such a morbid project, and it was sunny. It would make everything more fun. She smiled brightly as a woman jogged past her, holding a dog's leash. The woman smiled back, unaware of everything. Amy kept walking.

The walk didn't take nearly long enough; five minutes at the most. She walked into the park, feeling the knife gently nudge her thigh. She started looking. _By the playground, perhaps? _No, too many small children. She didn't want them to bear such a bad memory. _Maybe by the maple tree?_ Nope. Too close to the road. _Near the bathrooms!_ No, that wouldn't work, either. _Aha! That nice spot on the riverbank, the one close to the bridge._ The bridge was a quiet spot, but not too quiet. Quickly, she made her way to the riverbank and chose her spot. The ground sloped gently, and there were several large rocks close to the riverbank. She chose the largest, flattest rock for her spot and sat down. Ten minutes. Ten minutes until five o'clock. Ten minutes until he arrived.

Nine minutes.

Eight minutes.

Seven minutes.

Six minutes.

Five.

Four.

_Three._

_Two._

_One . . ._

_**Zero.**_

"Hello, love." She turned, and there he stood. His clothes and hair were immaculate, as usual. How predictable. His signature smirk was on his face.

"H-hi, Ian," she whispered, smiling shakily. In her mind, the smile was wider, more confident, but she couldn't let him see that smile yet. Not yet. Not until it was time. He sat down beside her.

"What did you have to tell me?" Cutting right to the chase, as always.

"W-well, I've been thinking . . . I know y-you didn't mean it in Korea. You just had to do what your mother wanted . . . right?" His face was priceless; if only she'd brought a camera. She could see him analyzing the situation in his head. What was she talking about? Oh, NOW he got it! She was forgiving him for leaving her. _Perfect._ Another chance. Perhaps he could find out something vital about the Madrigal branch by "aligning" himself with her. It would be simple. Just use her, like he'd done before. She'd fall for it a second time, and he'd win a second time. He grinned again.

"Of course, love," he said softly. His tone was ever so convincing. If only it would work on her . . . "I was never trying to hurt you. I was only doing what my mother ordered; she threatened to kill you if I didn't leave you in the cave. I'm so sorry." She smiled more brightly. It was working.

"Really?"

"Really." He took her hand. "I promise I won't ever harm you again, Amy." He pulled her into a hug, and she laughed to herself. Time was up. She reached into her pocket and drew out the knife. She laughed out loud, and Ian pulled away in shock. He stared at the knife in her hand, and then to her malicious grin, and back to the knife.

"You fell for it, just like I fell for you. Every word was a lie, just the way you worked against me during the clue hunt. Did you honestly think that I would forgive you?" Her laugh got louder and louder. Ian stumbled to his feet, trying to run, but Amy's hand still held his captive. She was stronger than she looked. So much stronger . . . after only a second's hesitation, she pressed the dagger under his chin and smiled poisonously.

"You tricked me!" His protest was feeble.

"Just like you tricked me." She ran the dagger along the side of his face_ . . . ever . . . so . . . gently . . ._ a line of blood, warm, red blood, oozed from the wound. Just like from her finger. "Now, time's up, Ian Kabra. Now it's your turn to be lovely . . . bloody lovely." The scream was heard throughout the entire park.

Four long minutes later, she slipped the dagger into her pocket. He wasn't dead yet; oh no, he would suffer much, much worse. He might die from blood loss, but if he didn't, his bloody lovely face would be marred forever. She let out a shriek of happiness. Her revenge was complete. She didn't hear the footsteps behind her, nor did she feel the dart pierce her neck. Slowly, she floated away into a realm of warm, comfortable sleep. Darkness. Emptiness. Perfection. As her mind went blank, she whispered two words:

_"Bloody lovely."_

**At 5:00 p.m., in the Hope Street Park, an attempt at murder was committed. Ian Kabra, age 14, was stabbed nearly to death by Amy Cahill, age 14. Ian's condition is critical, but it is estimated that he will survive. Ian was stabbed in the arms, legs, stomach, and shoulder, and a cut was also found on his neck and face. He is still unconscious. Cahill has been diagnosed with a very serious mental condition by leading psychologists in Boston, and will be spending four years in rehabilitation, at the minimum. So far, her motives for attacking Ian are unclear. She has refused to speak except for two words: bloody lovely.**


	2. Chapter 2: More Insanity

_**A/N:** Bloody Lovely was originally meant to be a oneshot, but I got a request for a sequel, which my friend QuayJaquelinXeomaraZendaya helped me plan. So . . . here it is. Chapter two. Unless I come up with another idea, this will be the last chapter._

_**Disclaimer:** Alas, I do not own The 39 Clues. They belong to Scholastic. If I owned them, Amy would have kicked Ian harder, and he would have been the one shot to kill._

_** Warnings:**Same as before._

Ian looked in the mirror. No matter what he did, he just couldn't hide it. "It" was the long, jagged scar on the side of his face. Amy had given it to him. The shy, quiet Amy he had known was gone. Somehow, she had just . . . disappeared. What remained was an evil, insane shell, more cunning than any Lucian, more evil than any Vesper. He'd fallen for her cover, entered her trap, and suffered the consequences. The scar on his face wasn't the only one; his entire body was riddled with the hideous white streaks.

"Why," he said softly to his reflection. "Why did you do it?" The question may have been for Amy, or may have been for himself. Why had he tricked her? Why had she fallen for it? Why had he betrayed her? Why had she wanted such a terrible revenge? **_WHY?_**

"Ian, hurry up! We're going to miss the plane!" Natalie's sharp voice cut through the air like a knife. HER knife. Ian shuddered, glancing behind him quickly. It was almost like someone was watching him . . .

"The plane doesn't leave for another four hours," he called back. There was no response; she was just trying to get him away from the mirror, away from the evil things he was remembering. _Bloody lovely._ That's what she had called him.

"Are you still thinking about that Cahill girl? Honestly, brother, forget about her." If Natalie even cared, she had a funny way of showing it. Slowly, a plan began to formulate in his mind. He wanted answers, there was one person who had them. Ian stepped out of his bedroom and into Natalie's, where she was folding clothes and packing them neatly into a huge suitcase.

"I'm going to visit her." The girl's head jerked up, and she stopped in mid fold. Her eyes went wide in shock.

"VISIT her? Are you insane?" Ian shrugged.

"I have to know why. We're never coming back; I might as well get answers while I still have the chance."

"Ian Kabra, if you even consider that, I will shoot you and stuff you into a suitcase!" He shook his head stubbornly.

"You don't get it, Natalie. I need to know why she did it. I'm a Lucian; it's my job to know things. Everything." Natalie's mouth turned downward.

"Fine. You want to go on a suicide mission to visit your almost-murderer, I certainly won't stop you."

"Funny, just a moment ago, you were talking about stuffing me into a suitcase," Ian responded dryly. Before Natalie got a chance to respond, he stormed out of the hotel room.

**_-LATER THAT DAY-_**

"Mr. Kabra, sir, are you sure?" The chauffeur was attempting to change his mind as they pulled up to the hospital.

"I am positive. Let me out here." The door opened, and Ian stepped out. The mental wing was an arc, with a set of big glass doors. On the door were the words "Boston Mental Facilities" and a window-paint drawing of a rainbow and a sun. A little girl sat near the entrance, drawing more pictures in window-paint. Cautiously, Ian pushed open the door. The girl turned to smile at him, and he recoiled slightly. Her pupils were enlarged, nearly covering her irises, and her smile was wide, toothy, and almost demented. Her black hair was pulled up into bouncy pigtails, and she wore a blue jumper over a red blouse. Slowly, Ian inched away from her, moving down the hallway. Near the end was a waiting room. The floor was carpeted in soft blue, the walls painted silver. Dozens of crudely drawn pictures and crayon colorings were taped to the walls, and a few brightly colored childrens' toys sat in the corner. Ian approached the main desk, where several women in scrubs sat. The one dressed in a duck print scrub looked up when he approached. She smiled.

"May I help you?"

"I would like to see Amy Cahill." Her face fell slightly.

"Oh . . . I-I see. Are you a close family member?"

"Yes. I'm her cousin." So what if they were very, very very distant cousins that saw each other once a year? There was still a relation.

"Please wait here. Someone will take you there in a few minutes. She already has a visitor right now." Ian nodded, thanked her, and sat down in one of the cheap, crackling blue chairs.

It took four minutes, thirty-six seconds for someone to come get him. This time, it was a woman in a pink scrub, which had some kind of floral pattern on it.

"Please follow me. Amy is down this way." They walked in silence for a while, and then the nurse spoke again. "Do you know why she's here?" Ian nodded. "Just be aware, Amy's condition is rather . . . dangerous, shall we say. Her room is very well protected, and so you shouldn't be in any danger, but just in case, I'll be outside. Call me if anything happens."

"I will, thank you." At least they'd be alone. Amy's reasons for attacking him were not something he wanted to discuss with the nurse.

After a few more turns, they ran into someone familiar: Dan Cahill. His head was down, and when he bumped into the nurse, he glanced up and mumbled some sort of apology. It was then that he saw Ian.

The look on Dan's face wasn't just one expression. He was angry, but also sad, afraid, and somewhat . . . sympathetic? It couldn't be. Not Daniel Cahill. The boy gave Ian a small shrug before continuing, his hands in his pockets.

"Do you know him?" The nurse asked.

"Yes. He's my cousin, too." He stopped speaking when the nurse approached a door. It was big and white, with at least four locks on the outside, and the name "Amy Cahill" on a tag by the door. He stared at the door; he'd often dreamed of it after the attack. A big, white door slowly opening, and behind it . . . Amy. Amy, staring at him hungrily, with a knife in her fist and blood dripping from her hand.

"Are you coming," the nurse asked. He nodded slowly, and she began to open the door. His heart beat faster. What would lie behind it? What would happen once he was inside? Thoughts ran through his head, memories from the attack, but when the door was open, he knew that everything was fine.

The room was simple, with white padded walls and a white padded floor. There was a bed that was chained to the floor, a few soft, white chairs, and a table with a half eaten bagel on it. She sat there, in one of the chairs, staring at her hands, which were resting in her lap. Two chains fastened her arms securely to the chair, and two more chains bound her legs.

"Hi, Amy! Today's a busy day, huh? Two visitors already!" The nurse's voice was false and cheerful, like she was speaking to a child. The girl shrugged.

"I guess. And you don't have to speak like that, you know. I'm not a six year old." Amy's voice was soft and cold, sounding almost Vesper-like. She slowly looked up, and her eyes immediately locked on to Ian's. "Ian. Why are you here?" Her words contained no fear, no anger, only curiosity.

"I'll leave you two alone, okay? Call me if you need anything!" The nurse backed out of the room and shut the door.

"So? Why are you here?" She placed her hands on her knees and stared up at him curiously. He took a deep breath, and then responded.

"We're leaving. Going back to England. Before I leave, though, I want to know something." She waited, still staring, not blinking, her gaze piercing his mind and tearing into it. "Why did you do it?" Everything broke. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, her teeth bared into a snarl, all traces of innocence gone.

"Why did she do it, he asks," she hissed. "Want to know what I was thinking in Korea? Why did HE do it? Why would anyone gain someone else's trust, make them feel something like love, and then stab them in the back so cruelly? Perhaps power? Perhaps greed? Perhaps selfishness? Whatever it was that drove him, it was nothing like what drove me. He asks why. Hah! Why? Revenge. Hatred. Anger. Bitterness. Sadness. Constant knives of pain, tearing into my mind and my heart. Eternal mistrust. THAT is why I did it." And just as quickly as it had appeared, the anger went away. The ferocity went away. Gone. Just like that. She smiled brightly, her eyes happy once again. "Let's not dwell on such bad things, though. Why don't you come sit and chat? I can ask the nurse to bring some tea for you." Her voice was hopeful, but he doubted it was because she wanted company.

"No, thank you. I have to catch my plane. Thank you for telling me, Amy. I doubt we'll ever meet again, so goodbye. " He pulled open the door and stepped outside.

**_-PAGE BREAK-_**

That night, as Ian lay in bed, he stared up at the ceiling. He was back in Britain; Amy was in Boston, still chained to that chair. There was nothing to worry about. If that was the case, why did he feel a sense of dread, like something terrible was about to happen? He tossed and turned, trying to fall asleep.

Late into the night, Ian was still awake. The house was silent and dark, and everyone was asleep. Everyone except for him. He thought he heard a squeak. His heart began to beat faster. There was a tap on the wall. His ragged breathing quickened. There was a footstep. He began to panic, eyes moving frantically, wishing his bodyguard hadn't chosen THAT NIGHT to take off. The doorknob slowly turned.

"Natalie," he called. "Stop it. That's not funny." The door creaked open. The hall light shone into his room, silhouetting a person. The person stepped into the room. "Natalie! Get out of here; this isn't funny!" The person didn't speak, steadily approaching. Getting closer. And closer. And closer.

"Hello, Ian. It seems we HAVE met again." The whisper was cold and soft, like the voice of a Vesper. The voice was the last thing he heard before pain blossomed from his chest. "Dan said that I should finish what I started, and he was right. Now, Cobra . . . you're dead."

_**A/N:** Well, there you have it. I hope this satisfied your wish for a sequel, Sarapercival333. Thanks for giving me an excuse to write this; I love writing horror, and it's rare that I find time to start a new story. However, this is it. No more sequels from Firestorm. Bloody Lovely is my first completed story, but I will definitely be writing some other stuff for this fandom at a later date, once I'm done with my other seven fics. Just as a note, if you've also read "The Lord of the Rings" or seen the movies, I am plotting a crossover called "The Fellowship of the Cahills." Read it if you're interested, don't if you're not. Adios! :)_

_-Firestorm N._


End file.
